Skedaddle
the soft skedaddle of birds
across a sky as daft as a painted bruise
the sun's contusion
glimpsed between windows,
between clouds like pale drapes
lassitude lassitude
and the great weight of the sky's basin
blood comes to the surface
and blooms
in the thin spring
as if it were wet petal
a tally of fingers
counting the tattoo of the stars
while I'm flat out
on the surface of myself
ribbons of breeze
tickertape like rain
the squander of moments
come under the umbrella
maudlin
I'd like to play several tunes
inside you
these empty empty hours
trombone and cello
as blue as the spillikins of light
that fall to our feet
our bare feet
trespassing across the open fields
beneath the unblinking
height of the same same sky
the sun is a plum at dusk